


The Loss of Little Threads

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Happy Ending, M/M, Nick Fury/Natasha Romanov (background), Pseudo-medieval fantasy kingdoms, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the kingdom of Seveth, marrying anyone but your soulmate is unthinkable. With an offer of alliance on the table and his ability to bond fading, Phillip of House Coulson has been thinking a great deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loss of Little Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amireal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/gifts).



> This fic is all amireal's fault, because I described it as an idle thought and she flailed so hard that I started writing it. And thanks to all the folks from STCC chat, because there are so many words and moments I got stuck on that they talked me through. <3 
> 
> Extra thanks to Selori for betaing!

The Council meeting that King Nicholas called for the afternoon was unplanned, but not unexpected, as least as far as Phil was concerned. The first visitor presented at the audience that morning had been a diplomat from the kingdom on Seveth's western border, Balekon, with a proposal for alliance. Seveth and Balekon weren't especially friendly, but neither were they enemies, and the rising tension between Seveth and their southern neighbor, Treviel, meant that alliances were a priority for Nicholas. Not least because Seveth was landlocked, and therefore currently depended heavily on Treviel's ports. A strong alliance with Balekon, one that secured use of _their_ ports, would ease everyone's minds. It might even cool the tension with Treviel: with a little competition, the Treviel ports might stop gouging Sevethan merchants, lest they lose them to new options.

No, the Council meeting was not a surprise. The surprise was the scowl on King Nicholas' face when he strode into the room. Even if the terms offered were not attractive, opening terms were meant to be negotiated, and it was better to have _something_ to work with than nothing at all. He should have been ecstatic. Instead, his expression reminded everyone in the room why his most frequent appellation was "Fury".

Instead of sitting, he came to the head of the Council table and clasped his hands behind his back, flipping his long black cloak back in the process. "Balekon would like to develop a version of our aqueduct system for their own cities and fields," he said, scowling. "They are willing to guarantee access to their ports for the duration of the construction."

Phil exchanged glances with the other Councillors. Surely this was good news. It could easily take more than a decade to construct even a preliminary series of aqueducts; a truly comprehensive system would take generations to build up. They would want to negotiate a limit to port tariffs, but that was easily done. "Your expression tells me that this is not their only demand," Phil said when Fury didn't go on.

The scowled deepened. "They want to secure the agreement with an alliance marriage. King Bernard's brother, Clint, to one of our high nobles."

Faces around the table fell. Other rulers might arrange marriages, judging their strategic rewards to be of greater value than the subjects' lost chance to bond with their soulmate, but Seveth never had. Not for hundreds of years, perhaps longer. 

"Perhaps we could negotiate," Councillor Hill said, drumming her fingers on the table. "I don't much like making concessions this early in negotiations, but there is substantial room to scale up an aqueduct project."

But Nicholas shook his head. "I met with their representative privately, after the audience. He couldn't say much, but he made it clear that the marriage was the only part of the proposal that was _not_ open to negotiation."

Several Councillors grimaced their distaste at the thought of being forced into a bondless marriage. Between the waking of the mind, the Search carnivals, and the natural tendency of soulmates to drift towards each other, nearly everyone found their counterpart by thirty. Bonding and marriage were almost synonymous, and Sevethan nobles had long since decided that a bond, and the sense of fate attached to it, trumped any other measure of the suitability of a match. Phil couldn't disagree, even as he wished that it wasn't so.

At forty-six years of age, Phil was still unbonded.

"Is King Bernard familiar with Seveth's practices with regards to bonding?" Nicholas' personal Sage, Stephen, asked. 

"He knows what he's asking for," Nicholas sighed. He dropped his hands from behind his back and finally sat, leaning back in his chair. "We could probably ask for additional concessions, given that. But none of it will go ahead without the marriage, and I won't force one of my people to do this. I can't."

Silence fell around the table. Phil opened his mouth to speak, stopped and took a deep breath, then tried again. "I'll do it."

Heads snapped around and Phil found himself pinned by five incredulous gazes. "Phil, we'll find another way," Fury protested. "We have other possibilities to investigate."

Phil set his jaw. "None this good."

"Phil," Sage Stephen began, gently.

Phil cut him off with a sharp gesture. "You yourself told me I was losing my ability to bond," he told the Sage. "I'm already incapable of recognizing my soulmate or forming the basic connection. I have a year, perhaps two, before I'm unable to form a bond even with the help of a Sage, correct?"

Stephen pressed his lips together, but nodded.

Phil turned back to Nicholas. "I'm not going to find my soulmate," he said bluntly. "I have never felt the draw. If they still live, they are too far removed from Seveth for us to ever find each other. I have this to give, Nick. Take it."

The King met Phil's eyes for a long, silent moment. Then he nodded. "If you change your mind at any point, right up to the fucking altar, you say so and it'll stop, Phil."

The corner of Phil's mouth turned up. "I appreciate that."

"Well," Councillor Hill said briskly. "It seems we have an alliance to discuss. Let's make certain we're getting the most for your concession."

The other Councillors murmured agreement, one of them ringing for a Page to bring the proposal to discuss. Phil sat back, letting their voices wash over him for a moment.

He was going to be married.

Not bonded, but married, at least. The thought settled him and let him enter into the discussion as Councillors and King picked apart the terms of the alliance and considered what to ask for and what they might concede in the negotiations. They ate dinner at the Council table, but by that evening a counter-proposal had been drafted and sent off to the scribes to be prettied up.

The tired Councillors filed out of the room, but Nicholas hung back and caught Phil's eye, so he paused, as well. When they were alone in the Council room, Nick came around the table and hitched his hip up on the edge of it near where Phil was sitting. "You've always been dedicated to this kingdom," Nick said. "But this is above and beyond. What else is going on here, Phil?"

Phil leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "It's nothing nefarious, Nick, you can relax."

"But there _is_ something going on."

Phil met Nick's eye and laughed wryly. "Just a lonely man finding an excuse not to spend the rest of his life alone," he said. 

Nick's gaze softened. "You're not alone, Phil. You've got me and Natasha," his bonded Consort, "at the very least, and I suspect Melinda is fond of you, too, given how she keeps slipping you information."

"Nick, how could you impugn the honor of the head of your personal guard like that?" Phil asked in mock outrage. Nick just glared at him and Phil sobered. "And I appreciate all of you," he said. "I do. But being surrounded by bonded couples is almost worse than being entirely isolated. I look around and on every side of me are people whose souls are made to fit together and all I can think is that mine is... wrong, somehow." Phil waved off Nick's protest. "I know it's not. But those are the thoughts I have when I look into my future and see myself alone for decades to come. At least this way I'll have company. I just hope _he_ isn't bitter at being married off."

"I'll make sure you get a chance to speak to him privately before the wedding," Nick promised.

*

Negotiations for the details of the alliance we were resolved far faster than Phil had expected, couriers racing back and forth between countries for a mere three months. At the end of it, Nicholas' designated heir, Steven of House Rogers, carried the signed agreement to Balekon's capital. When he returned, he would bring both King Bernard's signature and Phil's future husband back with him.

For such an important traveller, messengers were sent ahead, which meant that one morning Phil woke and lay in bed for a moment, letting the realization sink in: Today he would meet the man with whom he would spend the rest of his life. In just two weeks, he would be married. It still didn't feel quite real.

"Meeting your intended will make it feel real," Phil told his empty bedroom. "And you'll make a poor impression if you don't get up and get ready." Though the marriage had been King Bernard's requirement, Clint would be giving up more than Phil: at twelve years Phil's junior, he'd have expected to have more than a decade left to find his soulmate. In addition to that, he was surrendering his lands in Balekon, and every connection he had there. The least Phil could give him was a kind and respectful spouse.

So he climbed out of bed, washed, and went to his wardrobe to consider clothing. In the midst of the negotiations, there hadn't been much thought given to the participants of the proposed marriage; the terms had been more important. But Nicholas hadn't forgotten Phil entirely, so he knew from the couriers' observations--and one pair of painfully formal letters--that Clint's full name was Clinton, but that no one addressed him that way; that he was trained in swordplay, but preferred archery even though it was not regarded as highly in Balekon; and that, although the original alliance offer had included provisions for Clint to bring a household with him, he had made no objection when it was almost the first thing surrendered in negotiations. 

A man like that, Phil decided, didn't care much for ostentatious shows of rank. Add in the fact that he would be arriving after a week on the road, and was surrendering his holdings in Balekon, and it became obvious that greeting him in full court panoply would most likely make him feel self-conscious at best and condescended to at worst.

So Phil set aside the gold threaded and tasseled things he had to wear at formal events and chose instead dark grey trousers and a tunic paneled vertically in dark grey and blue. A matching grey cape went around his shoulders, black boots went on his feet, and his best sword--not the gilt court showpiece--was buckled at his hip. He did add his silver chains of office, which he didn't usually wear. Phil didn't want Clint to feel condescended to, but he didn't want his future husband to feel unimportant, either.

Fully adorned, Phil called a Page to bring him breakfast in his rooms and ate carefully, waiting for the trumpet call that would announce Clint's arrival. 

He didn't have to wait long. The breakfast dishes had just been cleared away and he was considering a walk when the clear tones of the trumpeter rang out. Taking a deep breath, Phil checked himself in a mirror one last time and went to meet his intended.

There would be a full formal reception in place of the afternoon audience, but for this morning, it was only Natasha (representing Nicholas), Phil, Councillor Hill, and a cluster of Pages and other servants gathered in the courtyard to await Clint's arrival. Phil was pleased, and a little relieved, that the others were not in full court dress, either, though Hill was wearing her court robes without all the extra accessories. "Nervous?" she asked when she caught him looking.

"A little," Phil confessed. 

Hill nodded. "It'll all be over, soon."

Phil had to chuckle; Hill wasn't given to empty reassurance. When her mouth tilted up at the corner, he realized she'd done that on purpose.

The clatter of hooves sounded before he could reply, and all of them turned their attention to the group riding into the courtyard in a double column. There were only six horses, Phil realized. Two mounted guards, two pack animals, and Sir Steven and, presumably, Clint, riding at the head of the columns. Phil had known Clint wasn't bringing a household, but this was extreme. 

The horses came to a halt and Steve and Clint dismounted, turning to each other and exchanging a word. Clint nodded and the two of them approached Phil's group, their guards crisp on their heels, armor polished and weapons held in ceremonial positions. Clint was, Phil realized, still wearing riding leathers. They were excellent, clean, high quality riding leathers, but though he would have had time to change into clothes not meant for long travel, he hadn't. Phil's stomach tightened with nerves as he wondered what that meant.

Clint and Steven came to a halt, Clint's eyes taking in the group briefly before focusing on Natasha, as Steven was already turned to her and bowing formally. "Consort Natasha, I present to you Prince Clinton, House Barton, of Balekon." 

Natasha and Clint exchanged nods. "King Nicholas and I welcome you to Seveth," Natasha said, though of course Clint had been inside the borders for days now. The capital was still the seat of the country. 

"Thank you, Consort," Clint said simply.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but just turned slightly towards Phil. "It pleases me to introduce your intended, Duke Philip, House Coulson, of Seveth."

Finally, Clint turned his attention to Phil. His gaze was direct, challenging, and though he hadn't spoken, Phil could almost hear the words: _This is who I am, take it or leave it._

Given the challenge, Phil took a long moment to look Clint over, from dark blond hair to largeish nose, from functional riding leathers to worn-in boots with not a spur in sight. He had, Phil realized, come to meet Phil bare of pretense. Meeting Clint's eyes again, Phil acted on impulse, holding out his hand instead of bowing as a Duke should bow to a Prince. "Phil is fine," he said.

For a moment Clint seemed taken aback, and then he relaxed and took Phil's hand in his. "Clint, please," he said. He grinned, and his whole face lit up, sparking an unanticipated warmth in the pit of Phil's stomach. "That might just be the first time anyone has used my full name since I was born."

Phil smiled back, but Councillor Hill and the court chamberlain were already stepping up for their own introductions, and Clint was quickly bustled away to be prepared for his formal presentation to King and court. The servants all went with them, and Phil found himself alone in the courtyard with Natasha.

"Like what you see?" Natasha asked, when they were out of earshot.

Phil chuckled softly. "Well, it's a good sign that he's prepared to approach the situation directly."

"If you were a different man, his... directness could have been taken as a terrible insult."

Phil nodded thoughtfully, looking after Clint, though the group had passed into the palace and couldn't be seen. "And he would have known exactly what he was dealing with."

Natasha hummed. "Risky," she said, but she sounded approving. Hooking her hands into the crook of Phil's arm, she drew him inside with her. "If I know you, Phil, you made all the arrangements for your portion of the formal reception days ago. Back to work now."

Since she was entirely right, Phil allowed himself to be dragged. There was more than enough to keep him occupied until it was time to prepare for his part in the reception, and then he was snatched up in the whirlwind of pomp and ceremony that was Clint's formal welcome to Seveth. Royalty did not visit often, and they had not had a royal marry into the Seveth nobility for generations, which meant a _great deal_ of ceremony had been drummed up. Phil found himself desperately glad that the wedding itself was so rigidly defined by tradition, even if that did mean going through the motions of a bonding. At least it wouldn't be an all day affair.

Regardless, it was late by the time Phil escaped to his rooms, and he'd barely said a dozen words to his future spouse, all of them ceremonial. But if he guessed correctly, the nobles so engaged in ceremony tonight wouldn't be inclined to rise early tomorrow, so Phil called a Page and sent them to Clint's rooms with a request that they share breakfast.

Nerves twisted his stomach while Phil waited for a reply, but it came mercifully quickly: Clint agreed. Phil let out a long breath and made himself prepare for bed, no matter how the words he needed for the morning formed and reformed in his head and demanded he sit awake and settle them. Sleep was a while in coming.

*

They took breakfast in Phil's sitting room, since Clint's suite was smaller, intended only for temporary guests. When Clint arrived, Phil was amused to find him dressed nearly as nicely as he had been at the formal reception, though his tunic was in shades of purple rather than his house colors, and cut less formally as well. He'd half expected a return to the aggressive dressing down of Clint's arrival, but now _Phil_ was the one comparatively under-dressed in a casual grey and dove-white tunic. It was only breakfast, though.

Clint must have caught the quirk of Phil's lips, because the very tips of his ears went pink. He didn't voice his embarrassment, though, just returned Phil's greeting and followed him to the breakfast spread. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again before the wedding," Clint commented as they selected items from the serving dishes.

"Does Balekon have traditions against that?" Phil asked.

Clint shook his head. "Not normally, no, but when the marriage is arranged, sometimes the senior parties involved would rather play it safe than risk the intended spouses taking offense to one another."

Phil paused in the midst of spooning honey over a bowl of fresh fruit and yoghurt, and then had to hurry to avoid spilling it all over the tablecloth, casting a sheepish glance at Clint. "Are arranged marriages common in Balekon, then?"

"About as common as marriages of choice," Clint said, and Phil stared at him for a moment. A ghost of uncertainty entered Clint's eyes. He lowered the serving fork, which had been heading for a sausage. "Have I said something wrong?" he asked warily.

"No, not at all," Phil said quickly. He picked up the coffee pot and waved Clint back to the sausages.

"But arranged marriages aren't common in Seveth," Clint said. He took the sausages and then laid down the serving tools in favor of his own utensils, cutting the food on his place into pieces. "I mean, some of the comments people made at the reception yesterday made me think it wasn't usual, but it's more than that, isn't it?"

Phil took a moment to mix cream and sugar into his coffee and to take a sip before he looked up and met Clint's eyes. "They're not just uncommon," he admitted. "They're unheard of. When people in Seveth marry, they marry their soulmate and no other."

"But almost everyone I met last night was married!" Clint blurted. "Surely they can't all be bonded."

"Why not?" Phil asked. "Once a sage wakes your instincts, most people drift together naturally. The Search carnivals help, too."

Clint put his knife and fork down and rubbed his hands over his face. "God, I'm sorry," he said miserably.

Phil started. "What? Why?"

Clint lowered his hands and shot Phil a look of pure guilt. "Because I _picked you_. This alliance. Whatever. I picked you, because this seemed like my best chance at having a halfway decent life, and because I did you're going to be cheated out of your soulmate, and it's my fucking fault."

"You didn't cheat me out of anything," Phil said, because even though his curiosity was burning, he had to uproot that vicious guilt first. "People lose the ability to bond as they get older. I'm just about there; I wouldn't even know my soulmate if I met them." He smiled faintly. "I was actually pretty worried about cheating you out of _your_ soulmate. You have more than enough time to find them."

Clint's expression relaxed and he laughed. If it was a little bitter, neither of them acknowledged it. "It wouldn't have mattered if I did," he said. "Soulmates don't have the... the reverence in Balekon that they seem to here. I was never going to have a free choice about who I married. Up until the last year or two, I figured I just wouldn't get married at all."

Phil curled his hand around the warmth of his coffee mug. "Something changed, obviously."

"Court intrigue," Clint said, his mouth twisting. He picked up his fork, but pushed the food around his plate instead of eating it. "Rumors started to go around that I was eyeing the throne. Barney and I thought they'd die down, but they started snowballing instead. And then I started walking into meetings where the people in attendance weren't the people who'd issued the invitation, and things started to really pick up momentum. Once that sort of thing starts..." Clint shook his head. "Barney had to get me out of there, or I was going to end up dead. He sent envoys to half a dozen kingdoms and free cities. I picked Seveth."

"No wonder the marriage was so very non-negotiable," Phil murmured.

Clint nodded. "The marriage was the whole point. Not that we didn't want an aqueduct system."

Phil took a sip of his coffee and gathered his composure for his next words. "Clint, I need you to know, I don't have any expectations of you. Once we're married, all the alliance details will be settled. You don't have to... There's no requirement for us to share a bed. And if you find your soulmate--" Clint started to interrupt, but Phil held up a hand to stop him. He had to get these words out. "If you find your soulmate," Phil made himself go on, "we can make an... arrangement. People, here at least, would understand."

"Phil, I'm not going to go looking for my soulmate," Clint said gently. "I don't even really know how, and you seem like a good man so far. I'm not going to go out of my way to make you unhappy." 

"Still," Phil said, his throat tight. "If you find them, if they find you... please just tell me. Soulbonds are things of joy. It would be terrible to see one turned into something of guilt, or shame."

Clint reached across the table and laid his hand over Phil's where it still curled around his coffee mug. "If I meet my soulmate," Clint said. "I swear you'll be the first to know."

Phil forced a swallow past the tightness in his throat and turned his hand to clasp Clint's fingers for moment. "Thank you," he said. Then he pulled his shoulders back, let out a breath, and pushed his fears for the future aside. "Breakfast is getting cold, and I'm afraid there's quite a lot of it. I wasn't sure what you liked."

"I like most food," Clint said, flashing Phil a deliberate grin. 

It might have been a consciously chosen expression, but it still warmed his eyes and softened the rough planes of his face, and Phil felt himself start to smile in return. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach?" he said, and then suppressed a wince; it was too soon to mention hearts.

"Better than through the ribs," Clint said, and it was so dry that Phil somehow found himself joining Clint in laughter. 

This was the right choice. Maybe Phil and his soulmate had never found each other because fate needed him to be here.

*

In the week leading up to the marriage, Phil stole whatever time he could from wedding preparations, his regular duties as a Councillor, and the crash course in Seveth protocol that Clint was getting, to get to know his intended. The wedding would happen regardless, but they didn't have to be _total_ strangers on the day. And Clint hadn't brought even one familiar face with him; someone needed to step up to be his friend and guide, and who better than his soon-to-be husband?

There were two more meals together, both breakfast, since they were both early risers. They went riding together once, and Phil tagged along on the introduction to the palace grounds that the chamberlain gave Clint, adding his own impressions and memories to the tour.

His first impression of Clint as a direct man who didn't care for shows of rank was quickly proven out. Clint asked everyone who could get away with it to call him Clint; for the rest he accepted "Ser" or, reluctantly, "My Lord". His clothes were of excellent quality but paid no attention to the latest styles and tended toward simple cuts rather than the elaborate creations that required assistance to get in and out of. He looked servants in the eye and was generous with thanks and praise. 

Phil wondered, occasionally, at Clint's standing in his brother's court even before the latest difficulties. He had a certain discomfort with being addressed with deference and a kind of surprise when he was praised that made Phil think he hadn't been well regarded. Although perhaps that was inevitable for a direct man in a court as plagued with intrigue as Clint's story had suggested.

Phil found himself somewhat guiltily grateful for those difficulties. Not that he wished unpleasantness on Clint, but it had brought him a future spouse who seemed both amenable to friendship and a great benefit to Seveth. And not due to the terms of the alliance--on the second-last day before the wedding, Clint tentatively asked if there was somewhere he might practice archery.

Suspecting Clint didn't mean the casual, hobbyist play of the court, Phil brought him to the city garrison's training grounds. Seeing the way Clint eyed the practice distances marked for the soldiers, Phil beckoned the garrison commander--come down to greet the Prince, of course--over and lowered his voice to a discreet volume. "Would your men take it poorly if we were to increase the distance for the Prince?"

The commander shook his head. "They know they're not true archers," he said. "Our instructors are capable men and women, but there's not a master archer among them."

"Clint," Phil called out. His intended turned to him. "You may increase the distance, if you wish."

Clint looked to the garrison commander, and Phil could see the man's back straighten and shoulders relax, pleased that the Prince had checked with him rather than take Phil's word. The commander nodded and Clint returned the gesture before turning and pacing half again the distance further from the target before turning and taking up his stance. From the relaxed set of his expression, Phil suspected he hadn't paced to his maximum range, but was still being careful of the garrison's pride.

Clint raised his bow, and there before Phil's eyes he became someone--or something--else. Focus and passion suffused him; he belonged to the moment entirely, the bow no longer a tool but an extension of his person, the arrows leaping from the bow like live things. He loosed ten shafts in quick succession, but Phil's attention was on the archer, the power in his arms and the peace that grew in his eyes.

"Now that's a master archer," the garrison commander said quietly, when Clint lowered his bow and let them take in the first grouping, every shaft bristling from the bull's-eye. Phil could only nod.

For the next half hour they watched as Clint made shot after shot, from a dozen different positions. When he was done, he came over to Phil and the garrison commander and nodded thanks. "I hope I might use your grounds to practice regularly," he said, darting a quick glance at Phil.

The commander spoke before Phil could nod that this would be accepted. "Of course. But I'd prefer it," the man said, "if your court duties allow, if you would consent to train my men in archery."

Clint eyes widened. "Your officers and armsmaster--"

"Are swordsmen and swordswomen, not archers," the commander said bluntly. "We can loft a decent lot of arrows, and that's it."

"Would it be allowed by protocol?" Clint asked Phil. Phil didn't miss the touch of longing in his voice.

Normally, it wouldn't be. Phil hesitated, and saw understanding dawn in Clint's eyes. "I can convince Nick to make an exception," he said impulsively. 

"You can?" Clint asked, lighting up.

Phil glanced at the garrison commander, who took the hint and stepped away, our of earshot. "It will take some convincing," he admitted. "And perhaps a play on his guilt for arranging a marriage, but I can do it."

Clint paused. "You don't have to--"

"I do," Phil interrupted. "To see you come alive like that? I do have to, Clint."

Clint smiled, a quiet smile, and reached out to take Phil's hand. "Coming alive in this place isn't as difficult as you seem to think," he said. "But I won't turn down a chance to work with a bow daily." Phil could only nod. 

They were soon swept back into their duties. The day before their wedding, Phil couldn't even wrangle a chance to see Clint, much less speak to him. He _did_ manage to extract a promise from Nick that Clint would be allowed to work with the garrison to improve their archery. It would still have to be approved by Council, but Nick's support would take care of most of that.

It would, Phil told himself on the morning of their wedding day, be good news to give Clint that evening. Their wedding night would not be much like those of true bonded couples, but Phil was determined that it would be a happy occasion nonetheless.

Most of the ceremony would be dictated by tradition; bonding had too long and too revered a history in Seveth for there to be much deviation. The wedding would begin early. It was meant to be dawn, but here a slight concession had been made to the status of the couple and the knowledge that many city and country folk would wish to attend, and they had some distance to come. So instead of dawn, they would marry at two hours past. 

A Page was waiting with breakfast and his wedding clothes when Phil emerged from his bedroom. The tunic and trousers were royal blue and not too complicated in cut; the star of the day was meant to be the bonding, and though there would be no bond this time, tradition held. Phil dressed and ate quickly and followed the Page down to the courtyard, where an escort and two horses waited for Phil and Clint. Clint appeared a moment later, dressed to match Phil, and they exchanged nervous smiles before mounting up for the procession out to the Grand Amphitheatre.

Phil had been in quite a few processions, though never as the central figure. It wasn't too different, actually: Smile, watch where you're going in case overeager spectators get in the way of the horses, and don't speed up no matter how much you want it to be over. The one real difference was that this time, the train of the procession grew longer as they went, those who wished to witness the ceremony tagging onto the end and following them out to the Amphitheatre.

There were a number of theatres and grand halls within the city for important events, but when the weather was fair and the event likely to draw a large crowd, they used the Grand Amphitheatre. It had begun life as a natural depression among the hills just outside the city, and then the center had been evened and laid with stone upon which a stage or a dais or other structure could be built. Two levels of stone benches had been set into the hills for the nobility, and the lush grass on the slopes gave plenty of room for common spectators.

The procession arrived at the Amphitheatre and Phil and Clint rode to a small tent that had been erected on the high edge of the bowl. A grey carpet led the way down from the tent to the dais that had been built on the stone platform, and despite the flood of people coming down the hill to claim their places to watch, no one stepped on it.

Dismounting, Phil and Clint ducked into the tent and found themselves alone in the flickering light of a lamp and the diffuse sunlight that came through the pale fabric. Phil realized suddenly that his heart was pounding and he had to laugh for a moment. "I didn't think I would be so nervous," he said.

Clint let out a long, shuddering breath. "I'm glad I'm not the only one." 

Phil rubbed his hands against his legs. "Suddenly I realize that having us wait in here is as much for our sake as it is to give people time to be seated."

"Having second thoughts?" Clint asked, shooting Phil an uncertain glance.

"No!" Phil turned and started to reach out, then hesitated. He needn't have worried, though; Clint met him halfway and their hands clasped. "Not at all," Phil went on. "I think I was just so focused on being married to you that I somehow forgot that there was a _wedding_ coming before that." He smiled wryly, aware how foolish that sounded.

Clint chuckled. "Almost there."

Phil nodded, and a moment later the flap of the tent swung aside and Sage Stephen looked in on them. "Ready?" he asked.

Phil exchanged a glance with Clint. "Ready," he said firmly, curling his fingers closer around Clint's; all at once, his nerves settled. He was getting married.

They stepped out of the tent together and onto the strip of grey carpet behind the Sage. There was a soft rustle as the audience turned to watch them. Phil turned to look at Clint, who smiled and nodded, and then they set off down the carpet, following the Sage up onto the dais. A small table stood in the center, and Sage Stephen moved to one side of it as Phil and Clint moved to the other. The coiled white silk cord that would represent their bond lay on the table, waiting, but Phil kept his eyes on Clint, and found himself taking Clint's other hand, as well, rather than releasing them.

The Sage launched into the traditional introductory speech, and Phil had to suppress a sigh. It was the speech the Sages always gave; they couldn't exactly change it, but it was all about the nature of the soul and how it wasn't meant to be isolated. Given that the two of them would be surrendering any remaining slim chance at finding their soulmates with this wedding, it wasn't exactly a joyous, affirming speech.

Phil did his best to tune out the traditional speech and think instead about the Bonding Tenet that he and Clint had chosen. Tradition dictated that the tenet must be chosen from _The 80 Pillars of the Soul_ , which meant that he and Clint had spent a painful morning combing through verse after verse extolling true love and fate and the inevitable coming together of matched souls, looking for one that wouldn't be a travesty of pretense. Clint wasn't his soulmate--that didn't mean Phil wanted to make a mockery of their joining. He was well sunk in despair and wishing, futilely, that they were using Clint's homeland's ceremony, which had no such restrictions, when he found it. 

"To honor their bond," the Sage said, "Phillip and Clinton have chosen Tenet Seventy-Three."

Another rustle went through the crowd, no doubt of people turning to their neighbors and asking, _Seventy-three?_ Phil smiled at Clint, who smiled back.

It wasn't a popular Tenet. Never having heard it before, Phil had become curious and checked the marriage registry and found that it hadn't been used, at least in the city, for decades. But it was there in _The Pillars_ , waiting to be found.

"Our lives are woven from stories, and my stories are now your stories," Phil said, voice steady and strong.

Clint continued, having chosen the call and response style instead of echoing. "Our lives are bounded by silences, and my silences are now your silences."

"My strength will be your strength, when you are in need."

"Your weakness will be my weakness, that you should never suffer alone," Clint said, fingers tightening on Phil's.

Phil found himself suddenly choked up, and had to swallow before going on. "I will stand side by side with you all the days of my life."

"And see you safely to the other side at the end of it," Clint finished.

There was a brief hush, and then Sage Stephen picked up the bonding cord. "Your hands, please." They still had both hands clasped, but they raised the pair nearest the Sage. "As I weave this cord, so I weave your bond," the Sage said. They'd discussed leaving that out, at least, but decided in the end it would seem stranger to have it absent than to include it. So Phil simply kept his gaze on Clint's and told himself it was bonds of friendship, at least.

The soft cord draped over his wrist, feeling strangely heavy, and then wrapped once, twice. The Sage paused as he crossed the cord over their clasped hands. The pause stretched on, and fear spiked through Phil. What if the Sage couldn't complete the ceremony? What if he decided that it was wrong, that he couldn't condone the marriage of non-soulmates? Phil clenched his teeth, holding back a sudden, desperate cry. _I don't want to be alone!_

The Sage's fingers tightened over Phil and Clint's clasped hands, and Clint's eyes widened, and somewhere inside Phil life poured into a place that had been withering, like sunshine into a wintered garden. Warmth bloomed in his heart, and words tumbled into his mind, shining and welcome: _I don't think either of us will ever be alone again._

Clint's eyes dropped to their wrists and Phil's gaze followed. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the bonding cord glowing a bright, silvery white and jerked his gaze back up to Clint's. _How could... what are the chances?_ Under the shock, Phil could feel an incredulous joy bubbling up. The Sage went on with wrapping the bonding cord, but all Phil could feel was Clint's vibrant, beautiful presence.

 _I guess you have to stop cursing fate, now,_ Clint teased, eyes sparkling.

Phil couldn't help laughing aloud, and then Sage Stephen touched their hands and Phil had to tear his attention away from his soulmate--his bonded soulmate!--for a moment. The Sage's eyes were bright with happiness, too, even as he spoke the last traditional words. "Your lives are joined in the eyes of all. May your bond grow ever deeper and more tangled."

For a moment Phil couldn't remember what was supposed to happen now. Then Clint released his unbound hand and tugged gently and he remembered: they had a few more minutes alone while the crowd departed, before they were to ride back to the formal reception. Together they turned and retraced their path over the grey carpet, returning to the little tent. The moment they were inside the spectators burst into conversation, a rumble from which Phil couldn't pick an individual word.

He didn't care. The cord wrapped around their wrists was still glowing, filling the tent with a silvery light.

Phil turned to Clint and found his bondmate turning, too. They slid into each other's arms, wrists shifting within the looped cords but not sliding free.

"Hey, Phil?" Clint said. He spoke in a low, confidential tone. Warmth seemed to pass from him to Phil, but Phil honestly wasn't sure if it was the heat of their bodies or the bond itself.

"Yes?" Phil pressed his cheek against Clint's, eyes closing as he let the bright, living energy of the bond wash through him.

"I found my soulmate."

A laugh burst from Phil. He leaned back enough to meet Clint's eyes and tried to frown, but couldn't quite manage it. "You're going to mock my attempt at selflessness?" Despite his mirth, Phil couldn't help the wash of relief that went through him at the realization that he wouldn't have to stand aside as someone else took first place in his husband's heart.

"It wasn't an attempt," Clint said. Phil's relief vibrated like a plucked string and Phil let out a shuddering breath as he realized Clint had touched the emotion inside him. "It was real." Clint pulled back and met Phil's eyes. "Feeling this," Clint went on, and a surge of warmth/safety/connection flooded Phil, "I can understand why soulmates are so revered in Seveth."

Suddenly, having Clint's arms around him wasn't enough closeness. He wanted _more_. Even as the emotion surged within Phil, Clint was leaning in. They met halfway, almost falling into the kiss. 

It had been... God, years since Phil had been kissed. Almost everyone around him was bonded. Those few who weren't had never felt drawn to him enough to try. But now, kissing Clint, Phil could feel a new thread, woven of desire and intimacy, twisting itself around the shining core of their bond. He moaned into Clint's mouth and deepened the kiss hungrily.

Clint matched him, and for long moments there was only the heat of Clint's body against his and the warm, happy throb of the bond growing stronger.

They were interrupted by a metallic _tap, tap_ from outside the tent, as of someone rapping a sword against a shield, in lieu of a door to knock on. 

Eventually, the tap was followed up by a soft throat clearing. "Sers?" the honor guard said. "Forgive the interruption, but you are due at the palace banquet hall."

"Rather overdue, I expect," Phil replied. The guard didn't comment, but the silence agreed. Sighing, Phil took a step back from Clint. A shadow of regret passed over Clint's face. "We have a reception to go to," Phil said ruefully.

"Do we have to?" Clint's tone was plaintive. "They just watched us bond--they'd understand if we didn't show, right?"

Phil laughed softly. "They were _supposed_ to be watching us bond. Just because we stuck to the ceremony closer than expected is no excuse."

Clint made a dismissive noise, but didn't argue further. Neither did he pull away. Phil couldn't quite bring himself to part them, either. _There will be more time later,_ Phil sent, along with a rush of warmth.

Clint smiled then, and raised their tied hands and kissed the still-shining bonding cord. _All the time in the world._

After that, Phil found the idea of unwinding the bonding cord easier to bear. The silvery light faded as it came loose, until it was a plain silk length again. It was theirs to keep, so Phil coiled it up tight and tied it to his belt with a loose end.

Phil found himself missing the procession during the ride back to the palace; with just himself and Clint and their two honor guards, it passed all too quickly. He wanted more time alone, more or less, with his new bondmate. But there was no help for it, and soon they were standing in a foyer letting a Page neaten them up after the ride so that they could be properly announced at the reception.

But the announcement itself brought a broad smile to his face, because instead of, "Husbands Duke Phillip and Prince Clinton," as he and the chamberlain had agreed, they stepped into the hall to the ringing words, "Bondmates Duke Phillip and Prince Clinton."

"Someone works fast," Clint murmured, his lips quirking. They smiled and nodded as they were ushered through the gathered nobles and up onto raised platform at one end of the room, where the highest ranking guests would join them.

"We gave them plenty of time," Phil said, but silently he agreed... and Clint echoed that back at him through the bond.

The King welcomed them up onto the platform, pausing to squeeze Phil by the shoulders. There wasn't time for conversation, though, not with a room full of nobles who had been kept waiting rather longer than originally planned. Instead Phil and Clint were shown to their seats at the center of the table, overlooking the rest of the banquet hall. The King sat by Clint, and the Consort by Phil, and servants started bringing out food as the nobles rose, one by one, to offer their words. Attendance at the reception had been carefully negotiated in advance, since every person present would be given a chance to speak, beginning with the lowest ranked so that the last words--those most likely to be remembered--would come from the highest ranked nobles.

It made for a very long lunch, though at least they were permitted to eat while the steady flow of words went on. At last, when the plates had all been cleared and everyone was nursing a drink, the King rose to speak. For the most part, he stuck to the speech he'd discussed with the Council; this was still an alliance marriage, after all.

But when Nicholas had reached the end of his prepared words, he turned to Phil and grinned. "Of course, in addition to all of that," he said, "he managed to end up bonded to his soulmate anyway, because Phillip of House Coulson never does anything half way."

A ripple of laughter went through the room, and Phil shook his head at Nick, but laid his hand over Clint's and shared a helpless smile with him. A rush of warm amusement came through the bond from Clint. Nick sat, and Phil and Clint rose in his place to make their formal departure, that everyone might be released from protocol to celebrate more freely.

A Page led them quietly to their new quarters; Clint had only had guest quarters and Phil's weren't appropriate for a married couple. As the door shut behind them, Phil looked around, taking in the layout anew: a large receiving room, a dining room beyond it, and to either side, doors leading to two completely separate sets of sitting rooms, offices, bathing rooms, and bedrooms. It was the sort of layout typically given to ambassadorial delegations. He and Clint had been expected to lead separate lives. 

Looking at the two doors, now, Phil couldn't imagine stepping through either one of them without Clint at his side. Just the thought of parting from Clint now sent a sharp ache of denial through his heart.

Clint, standing behind Phil, put his hands on Phil's hips, pausing for a moment before stepping forward and letting his arms slide around Phil in a more complete embrace. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. 

"We still hardly know each other," Phil replied, but he put his hands over Clint's and leaned back into the embrace.

_I have a feeling that's going to change pretty quickly._

Phil smiled at the brilliant, sparkling touch of Clint's mind. "You're so bright," he murmured, letting his eyes drift closed. Not to block out the brightness--not when it was in his mind--but to let himself focus on it. "Am I bright like that?" Somehow he didn't think so. 

"No," Clint said, but he didn't sound disappointed. "You're a steady, enveloping comfort. Like wrapping yourself in a fuzzy blanket on a cold day, or waking up slowly on a gentle morning."

"Oh," Phil said softly, pleased. He opened his eyes and confronted the two doors again.

"So what do we do now?" Clint was clearly following his thoughts. Or just the direction of his gaze.

"We were supposed to set some boundaries and then settle into our rooms together," Phil said.

"But that's not what bondmates would do." Clint hadn't let go of him, and his breath was a tickle against Phil's ear and cheek.

"No." Phil hesitated, and encouragement came through the bond. "Bondmates would, traditionally, share a Cleansing." 

Clint relaxed his hold, pulling his hands from under Phil's, and if it weren't for the warm glow of the bond, Phil might have worried that he'd put Clint off. But he did have the bond, and so he was only confused for a moment, before Clint moved his hands to Phil's hips and nudged him around so that they were face to face instead of back to front. "What's a Cleansing?" Clint asked.

There were a hundred flowery explanations, but Clint had preferred directness every time he'd been given the choice. "We bathe each other," Phil said. "It's meant to be about a fresh start to a new chapter in life and building intimacy and... well, a few other things." Phil smiled, feeling sheepish. He'd read a lot about bondmates and bonding ceremonies in his thirties, when he'd been convinced that his bondmate had to be right around the corner, because everyone found theirs by then... "We don't have to do that, though."

Clint gave Phil a long look and then smiled a little. "But you want to." Phil nodded. He'd imagined it so many times, the first night properly bonded to his soulmate. Giving up hope of getting it hadn't stopped him from wanting it. Clint's smile broadened. "All right, then. Which suite?"

A jolt of happiness went through Phil, and he knew Clint felt it by the way his eyes crinkled around the edges. "I don't think it matters," Phil said, but when he led Clint by the hand to one of the suites, he chose the one that would have been Clint's. Might still be Clint's, if he decided he wanted his own space, though Phil was truly starting to truly believe that that wouldn't be the case.

They both knew the layout of the suites, since they'd chosen them together, and found their way quickly to the bathing room. Lamps were quickly lit, lending the room a soft, warm light. A polished metal tub, luxuriously large enough for two, was filled via taps fed by sun-warmed cisterns on the roof. The water wasn't exactly hot, but a set of stones had been left to heat in a banked fire, and when Phil added those to the water, it quickly warmed.

He looked up from his task and caught his breath when he saw that Clint had disrobed. He was _beautiful_ , built of firm muscle and lightly dusted with blond hair, skin all but gold in the lamplight. Phil couldn't stop his gaze from touching on Clint's cock, shorter than Phil's but solid and slightly curved, before he jerked his eyes back up to Clint's face, feeling his cheeks heat as he did.

Clint's eyes sparkled as he stepped up to Phil and reached for the ties of his tunic. "You're allowed to look," he said as he unwrapped and unfastened the closures, until the garment hung loose and open, exposing Phil's chest. Clint's hands slid warmly over Phil's skin as he pushed the tunic off his shoulders. "I'm planning on looking, too." He met Phil's gaze again even as he drew his hands down Phil's arms and brought them to rest on his hips, fingering the waist of his trousers.

Phil could feel another thread of the bond unspooling between them, anchoring itself in the quiet intimacy of undressing together. It leeched the uncertainty from him, leaving only a faint regret as he said, "I'm not exactly in my prime." He'd never pictured revealing this body to his bondmate; his fantasies always took place when he was younger, before age and more time in the council halls than in the practice yards had softened his edges.

Clint just shook his head. "You're perfect." He went to his knees to help Phil out of his boots and socks, then rose and tugged on the trouser tie. It came loose and the fabric slipped over Phil's hips and pooled on the floor. Phil kept his attention on Clint's face, his heartbeat quickening when he saw the way Clint's eyes darkened as he took in the rest of Phil's body, and the quick flicker of his tongue over his lips.

When Clint met his eyes again, Phil had to swallow before he could speak, and it still came out rough. "We should bathe before the water cools."

"Right," Clint agreed, and his voice was a bit lower, too.

Phil stepped into the tub and held his hand out to Clint, who accepted the steadying grip and joined him. They knelt together, the water rising just above their hips. The warmth of it sank into Phil. Each of their small movements sent little waves rippling against the other. It was, Phil realized, oddly like the bond itself--warmth and feedback and all-encompassing connection.

"Any particular way we're meant to do this?" Clint asked, voice soft but deep. Phil swore he could almost feel it rumble in his own chest. 

"No," Phil said. He reached over the side of the tub to retrieve a wash cloth and to scoop a bit of soft soap out of a tin. "It's about intimacy, not ceremony."

"I've never bathed with anyone before." Clint held still as Phil worked the soap into the washcloth and then lifted Clint's hand and started cleaning it, finger by finger. "Never trusted anyone enough to be willing to be that vulnerable around them," Clint admitted.

Phil continued with the washcloth, drawing it over the back of Clint's hand and circling Clint's wrist with his fingers, watching the trails of soap streak over Clint's skin as he moved up his forearm. "I had a couple of partners I tried it with," he said. Even as he spoke, he could feel a new bond thread slowly, tentatively forming. "But it was never like this."

"I know what you mean," Clint murmured, cupping water in the hand that Phil wasn't holding and lifting it up to pour down over Phil's shoulder and chest. Rivulets of warmth trailed down Phil's skin, and as he reached Clint shoulder, he found himself leaning in for a slow, heated kiss. 

They parted with a soft huff of shared breath. Phil continued, every swipe of the washcloth only seeming to draw him back to Clint, to kissing him again. By the time the cloth passed to Clint's hands the water had cooled, but by then it was a balm on Phil's skin, soothing the heat that Clint's strong hands drew to the surface.

When they were done, they rose from the water together. If the cool water had helped to bank Phil's rising desire, the act of drying each other fanned it alight again. Phil met Clint's eyes and the towel slipped from his fingers as they fell into each other, hands sliding over flushed skin, mouths coming together hungrily.

The bond lit up, electric with emotion. Clint moaned into the kiss, his desire adding a resonance that reflected back into Phil and drove his arousal higher. His cock hardened and was quickly matched by Clint's, stiff and hot and eager between them. 

It was Clint who pulled back, just enough to speak. "I want you to take me to bed," he said, the hoarseness of his voice sending a shiver down Phil's spine.

"Yes, yes I want that," Phil said. He took Clint's hand and led him into the bedroom.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the drapes, warming the room and picking out the highlights in Clint's dark blond hair. "God, you're gorgeous," Phil said, staring for a moment as the unreality of it all came back to him. That someone like Clint, who only seemed to get more amazing the more Phil learned about him, should be _Phil's_ soulmate.

Clint laughed softly. "You say that like you aren't everything the word 'noble' was intended for." He trailed a finger over the bridge of Phil's nose and leaned in to kiss him again. "This profile was made for portraits."

"Broken nose and all?" Phil asked wryly, but was quickly distracted by Clint climbing up onto the bed and stretching out. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and crooked one knee, tipping it to one side in clear invitation. "Fuck." Phil crawled after Clint and kissed him again. As the kiss went on he sank down to rest on top of Clint, their bodies pressed hotly together. He barely got settled before Clint took his hips in a firm grip and rolled them, somehow never breaking the kiss.

Phil moaned and arched into Clint's beautifully solid body. He was so certain, so undeniably _present_ , and even with the bond singing between them, Phil found himself clutching at that visceral certainty. Clint pulled back for a moment, staring down at Phil, eyes dark and intent. "What do you want?" Phil asked. 

" _Everything,_ " Clint said. "I want... God, I want taste you. I want to rub against you until you're covered in my come. I want to bury myself in your heat, I want to see my cock stretching that perfect mouth of yours, I want you to fuck me so deep you become a part of me--" It all sounded amazing, but Phil's pulse leaped at the idea of being a part of Clint, and Clint obviously felt it because he paused, then gave his hips a slow roll, driving a gasp out of Phil with the friction against his aching cock. "Yeah, you like that idea. You want me..." He gave Phil a long look, and the bond vibrated as he touched it, expanded and seemed to spread into every corner of Phil for a moment. "You want me on my back," Clint went on, low and intent. "Spread out for you as you sink into me, your eyes on mine so you can see everything you're giving me shining back at you."

"Yes," Phil gasped. He reached up and cupped Clint's face in his hands, pulling him down for a long, hungry kiss. _Make me a part of you,_ he thought hazily, and felt the bond responding, becoming a broad, open channel between them instead of a tightly woven cord.

 _Always,_ Clint answered. Warmth and welcome drew Phil into the space of the bond, even as Clint turned them again, putting Phil back on top without ever breaking the kiss. 

Phil didn't let it go until Clint parted his legs, letting Phil slide down between them. When he did pull back, physically if not mentally, he found himself momentarily speechless at the sight of Clint's flushed face and kiss swollen lips. A mirroring appreciation flowed back to him along the bond.

Licking his lips, Phil had to force himself to think for a moment. "Have you done this before?" In Seveth, it was common for people to reserve one act or another for their bondmate.

Clint nodded, then hesitated. "Disappointed?" he asked, uncertainty coloring the bond for a moment.

"No, not at all," Phil said quickly, and ducked down for a soft kiss to reinforce it. The bond warmed and he reveled in it for a moment, sending a shiver of affirmation over to Clint. "Though I do hope I compare well." This wasn't Phil's first time, either, but Clint was his _bondmate_.

"It wouldn't matter if you didn't," Clint said, eyes sparking. "We've got a lifetime to practice."

Phil laughed in delight and pushed himself up to kneel between Clint's legs, stroking his palms over the strong thighs as he went. "I guess we better get started, then." He found a bottle of lubricant on the side table, full and with a wax seal still intact around the rubber stopper to show how new it was. Flushing, he decided not to think about whether or not it would have been there if all had gone as expected. Instead, he unsealed it and brought it back to the bed, tipped a small pool onto Clint's firm stomach and ran his fingers through it to check the consistency. As he rubbed his fingers together, Phil felt a flare of heat not his own and looked up to find Clint watching him with dark eyes. Phil paused, and Clint reached out to tangle their fingers together, slippery with the lubricant.

"Feels pretty good to me," Clint murmured, and it was as if his heat rolled right into Phil and sent a pulse of desire through him, his cock throbbing in eager anticipation of the things to come.

"Yes," Phil said hoarsely. Clint bent his knees and brought their joined hands to rest atop one of them while Phil coated the fingers of his other hand in slick and shifted it down between them. The first brush of his finger against Clint's opening made them both moan. A new bond tendril unfurled as Phil slowly breached Clint's body and flickers of sensation skittered across it. By the time Phil had sunk his finger in to the knuckle, a ghost of the sensation was echoing through his own body. He let out a moan, his eyes drifting closed even as he carefully worked Clint open, half lost in the heat and the tangible echo of his actions.

" _More_ , Phil," Clint demanded eventually, voice uneven.

Phil realized that he'd been fucking Clint with a single finger for some time, more distracted by the sensations the bond gave him than he'd realized. "Sorry," he said, forcing himself to swallow as he pushed a second finger into Clint and felt it echo over his own nerves. "It's just... I can feel my fingers inside you from both sides."

"Oh!" Clint gasped. A brief laugh escaped him. "That explains why my hand feels like that. Fuck, Phil. How does this feel?" he squeezed down and Phil moaned and pushed his fingers in deeper, chasing the echoing loop of sensation as Clint squeezed and Phil thrust until both of them were panting and shaking.

It felt so good, not just the touch but the responsiveness of the connection, that Phil had to force himself to stop. He withdrew his fingers--three, now--and Clint whined in protest. "I want more than fingers," Phil said, fumbling for the bottle of lubricant again.

"God, yes, right," Clint babbled. He rested his hands on top of his knees and watched Phil slick up his cock with hot, intent eyes. "You ready?" _You want to come in here with me?_ he sent over the bond, and Phil barely managed to close the bottle and set it aside before crowding forward between Clint's legs, resting one hand over Clint's on his knee and using the other to steady himself. The slow stretch of Clint's body opening for Phil sent a shiver of primal pleasure through him, the most deeply wired pleasure there was: _connection_. The echo of the feeling in his own body only underlined it, a sense of _this is how it feels for him to take you in._

"Phil," Clint's hand turned on his knee and caught Phil's. "Phil, Phil, Phil, you feel so _good_."

"Yes," Phil managed. He pressed forward, sucking in uneven, shaky breaths as he sank inch by inch into Clint's hot, tight grip.

"So full," Clint said, and Phil wasn't sure Clint meant to say it. His head was tipped back, exposing the beautiful curve of his throat, and his eyes were shut. "Never been so full." Phil finished the steady slide forward, their bodies pressed close, his cock fully buried within Clint. "God, I love this," Clint went on, breathless. "No place left cold," he said, and his touch on the bond was like music, and Phil realized that Clint meant it as much about their internal space as much as he meant it about their bodies.

"You're never going to be left cold again," Phil promised him fiercely, and Clint's eyes flew open, finding Phil's and quickly brightening. 

"You're a part of me now," he agreed. He licked his lips. "And I'm a part of you."

Phil nodded and rolled his hips, caught between the hot grip of Clint's body around his cock and the echo of feeling filled himself. "Fuck, that's amazing," he said, holding Clint's gaze. 

"Give me more," Clint demanded. "You know I can take more."

He did. With the wide open bond and the sensations ghosting through his own body, Phil knew _exactly_ how much Clint could take. He grinned and the bond sparked with anticipation and then Phil drove in hard, sending a jolt of pleasure through them both. Phil, or Clint, or maybe both of them, hissed, "Yes," and they fell into a fast, eager pace. 

The slide of Phil's cock into Clint's heat was addictive. For all the tight grip of him, he let Phil in easily, his body relaxed and welcoming, like he knew exactly when and how... and of course, he did. Phil felt a heady mirth bubble through him and saw it rise in Clint's eyes, too. "You're incredible," Phil gasped, never slowly his fucking. "Incredible and perfect and I can hardly believe we're here." 

"Perfect for you," Clint said. "And you're perfect for me." He shifted his legs, wrapping them around Phil's waist and tilting his hips, changing the angle. On the next thrust a shock of ecstasy crackled through them both. Phil moaned and thrust again, hands steadying himself. "There," Clint begged, heels pressing into Phil's back. "Right there."

"Yes, yes," Phil said urgently. He sucked in a breath and saved his energy for burying himself inside of Clint, finding that spot that lit up both of their bodies, thanks to the bond. It was so good, so much better than he'd ever known before, because he'd never had the bond showing him the way before. They climbed to their peak in unison and crested it together with a cry of wonder as much as of completion, because the bond flared and grounded itself even more deeply. For one endless, suspended moment, love and pleasure and companionship were the only things that existed in the world.

With the bond still open and warm between them, if not quite on the same scale, coming down from their climax was more of a slide than a crash. Phil lay draped over Clint for a minute or two before gently withdrawing and fetching a soft cloth to use for clean up. When he was done, he settled into the curve of the arm Clint held out for him and rested his head next to Clint's on the pillow.

"I begin to understand," Clint said, "why some of those bonding vows are so popular."

"I know what you mean. But... I still think the one we chose was right." Phil hesitated. "I wondered so many times if we were doing the right thing. Finding that tenet... it reassured me that having a marriage without a bond didn't mean having an _empty_ marriage."

"Our lives are woven from stories, and my stories are now your stories," Clint said softly, repeating the bonding vow.

Phil smiled.

*

Phil woke the next morning aching pleasantly all over and conscious that Clint felt the same, not that either of them regretted it. The previous afternoon's lovemaking session had not been the last, not with hours before sleep had called and the bond rapidly growing new threads between them.

This morning the bond was quiet, but not so much that Phil didn't know that Clint was watching him, for all that there was no warmth next to him in the bed. Opening his eyes, Phil rolled onto his back and saw Clint leaning against the wall next to the window, a small smile curving his lips as he watched Phil. He was wearing loose sleep pants and nothing else, and his strong hands were curled around a mug. Every time Phil looked at him, he swore Clint got more beautiful.

"It's somehow unfair that you're still incredibly handsome while sound asleep," Clint said, and Phil had to laugh, because he was pretty sure they hadn't even read each other. 

He slid out of bed and crossed to Clint, stealing the mug from his hands and sipping, only to grimace at the bitter taste of unadulterated coffee. He handed it back to Clint, who smirked. "We shouldn't be having breakfast, anyway," Phil said virtuously. "There's a formal wedding breakfast, remember."

"Does it count as formal when there's just four of us?" Clint asked, sipping his evil brew.

"It does when the other two are King and Consort."

Clint heaved a put upon sigh, but the bond was full of happiness. "Well, I guess I should be grateful that the Page picked out our wardrobes when he brought the coffee, then."

Phil frowned. "If you'd only asked for coffee, he shouldn't have--"

"I didn't ask for coffee," Clint interrupted. "And it was a Royal Page, not a Household Page. Apparently His Majesty thought that you might be... easily distracted this morning." He quirked an eyebrow and passed the mug from one hand to the other before resting his hand on his hip, chest flexing not-so-subtly. "I can't imagine what he was thinking."

Phil snorted in laughter. "He was thinking that he's not missing out on the best chance to tease me that he'll ever have. Come on, then. I sort of owe him one, after all."

The clothing had been left carefully hung in the outer sitting room of Clint's portion of the suite. Phil brought both sets into the inner sitting room, sorting out which was his with a quick check of the tailoring of the shoulders; Clint's were much broader than his.

"Why do you owe him one?" Clint asked, accepting items of clothing as Phil handed them over. "Surely he owes you, considering that this was supposed to be a marriage of convenience."

"He didn't actually want me to go through with it," Phil admitted, starting in on his own dressing. "Even knowing how important this alliance was to Seveth, he must have given me a dozen chances to back out. I wanted this, so I owe him for making it work. And, considering how things worked out, I might well owe him twice over." Clint paused in the act of lacing his trousers and shot Phil a concerned look, which reminded Phil that Clint's home court had hardly been friendly. Phil smiled to reassure him. "It's not a real debt, especially since being bonded was what he wanted for me in the first place. But it is grounds for some friendly ribbing."

"Well, far be it from me to deny the King his friendly ribbing," Clint said. He was smiling, but Phil could feel the anxiety. Rather than say anything, he touched the bond and sent a pulse of reassurance along it. Clint's smile brightened.

When they stepped out of their suite, the Royal Page was waiting for them. Bowing politely, the Page set off down the hall at a brisk walk, leaving Phil and Clint to follow. They exchanged an amused glance, but kept pace. The Page left them when they reached the King's apartments; the Royal Guards bracketing the entrance nodded politely to them and one rapped on the door briskly before opening it.

The outer sitting room, used for most guests, was empty, but the inner sitting room, which was for those personally close to King and Consort, boasted an impressive breakfast spread. The King stood over it, holding a mug in one hand. When Phil and Clint stepped inside, he caught Phil's eye and grinned. Setting the cup down, he crossed the room and pulled Phil into a hug.

For a moment, Phil was frozen. It had been _years_ since Nick had hugged him, not since he'd succeeded to the throne. Eventually, Phil managed to wrap his arms around his friend and hug him back. Nick took another moment before pulling away and grasping Phil by the shoulders. "You look great, Phil," he said, grinning. He turned to Clint and nodded. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome?" Clint offered, glancing at Phil. Phil just shrugged.

"Have a seat, dig in," Nick said, waving at the breakfast spread. "Natasha will be with us in a moment. This might be an official wedding breakfast, but I'm not going to stand on ceremony with my oldest friend and his bondmate, so there are no servers."

They each retrieved plates and filled them with their choices for the morning meal. Natasha appeared from an inner room just as they were seating themselves and nodded hello even as she served herself. They were quiet for a minute or two while they eased the pangs of hunger. But soon enough Nick slowed his pace and gestured with a piece of toast. "So were you two as shocked as everyone else yesterday?" he asked. "Or were you holding out on me?" Nick mock-glared at Phil.

Phil snorted. "As if I could have kept something that big from you."

"You've surprised me before," Nick said, momentarily solemn, and Phil knew he was thinking about the moment when Phil had offered himself up for an alliance marriage. 

Phil let his smile take on a teasing edge. "But not Natasha."

"Indeed," she murmured, and the three of them laughed.

A sense of withdrawal came over the bond, and Phil turned to Clint to share his laughter. "Natasha was the spymaster for Lascalen, on Treviel's other border, before she met Nick. I've yet to meet anyone who could get something by her."

Clint hesitated for a long moment. "That sounds like a challenge," he said eventually, arching an eyebrow at Natasha.

She smiled. "One I will happily meet." Everyone else smiled, too, Clint included, and Phil felt a surge of happiness that he had these three people in his life.

"I think," Phil said as they went back to their meal, "that I might have been the most surprised of anyone. I'd given up on the idea of my soulmate even existing."

"But you obviously hadn't entirely lost the ability to form a bond," Nick said. "I thought you knew that?"

"I did. But that's not what I meant." He paused, and warmth came through the bond from Clint. Phil shot him a quick smile before turning back to Nick. "One of the reasons that soulmates find each other is because they feel drawn to each other--either a physical tug, or an urge towards certain decisions, or both. I never had any of that, not even the slightest tug or hint that there was someone out there."

"Same for me," Clint agreed. "Though in my case, it might just be because no one in Balekon puts a priority that high on finding their soulmate."

"I have an alternate theory," Natasha said. All eyes turned to her. "The purpose of that sense of draw is to bring soulmates together so that they might bond and spend their lives together, yes?"

"Yes," Phil and Nick echoed.

"But Clint was a prince of another court," Natasha pointed out. "If you had felt a draw that led you out of the country, Phil, would you have followed it? Abandoned all the people you have a responsibility to here?"

Phil was silent for a long moment, contemplating. "Not at first," he said. "But in the last few years? I think I might have. I'd have made sure my duties were in good hands, but I think I would have gone."

"And if you had," Natasha said, undeterred, "if you surrendered everything you had here, as you would have to, and petitioned at Clint's court for his hand," she turned to Clint, "would he have been granted it? A man of noble blood, but with no land and no position?"

"Never," Clint said at once. "It wouldn't have mattered what either of us wanted," Clint said to Phil. "The priority of the Balekon court is political advantage. If you brought nothing to the table, they would see my marrying you as a loss. And I would never have been allowed to leave on my own, either. An heir in anything resembling exile is a danger to the throne."

Natasha lifted a hand, palm up. "And so the sense of draw would not bring your souls together. More likely, it would have left you permanently separated."

Nick leaned forward suddenly. "But when a chance arose that _would_ bring you together, you felt the urge after all, didn't you, Phil? You all but jumped at the idea of an alliance marriage, no matter how distasteful that thought would normally be to a Sevethan." There was a hint of relief in Nick's eyes.

"It wasn't as much of an impulsive thought as you make out," Phil said, but when he looked over at Clint and felt the bond shining between them, he wondered. "But you have a point."

"Does it matter?" Clint murmured. "Whether finding each other was fated or not? Either way, you're mine and I'm yours."

"May your bond grow ever more tangled," Nick said warmly, and raised a glass.

Phil met the toast with his own glass, his other hand clasping Clint's. "All the days of my life."

~!~


End file.
